Soprano Evelina Dobračeva in Cincinnati Opera's 2016 production of Tosca. Photo by Philip Groshong.
Villain loves Woman. Woman loves Good Guy instead. Villain makes drastic attempts to win Woman. Most characters die by the end. We know this story. So why does Giacomo Puccini’s Tosca keep us in a stranglehold 125 years after its premiere—and what can we still learn from it? Often, the art that moves us most manages to balance this familiarity (classic stories, archetypal characters, timeless concerns) with a singular uniqueness (Puccini’s music, a talented cast bringing it to life on stage). We return again and again to witness as the story plays out, and ideally to discover something new each time. In an authoritarian Rome, our villain Baron Scarpia polices the streets from the shadows. He has long been obsessed with our heroine, Floria Tosca, and when her love—the artist Cavaradossi—gets caught attempting to free a political prisoner, Scarpia uses Cavaradossi’s arrest as a bargaining chip to get what he really wants: Tosca.
However, while simple descriptions such as these tend to reduce Tosca to the role of victim or even pawn, there is much more to discover. When the opera opens, we meet Tosca in a state of jealousy—in fact, it is only because she is pursuing this jealousy that she discovers Cavaradossi’s secret agenda and becomes embroiled in the political chess match in the first place. Act II puts Tosca under enough pressure to break most people: Scarpia tortures Cavaradossi until she gives up her information, then threatens to execute him unless she gives herself over. She agrees—what else can she do, in the moment?—but after securing Cavaradossi’s freedom along with her own, she wrenches back her agency in the form of a knife and kills Scarpia.
Scarpia (Gordon Hawkins) attempts to bend Tosca (Evelina Dobračeva) to his will. Photo by Philip Groshong)
The final act finds Tosca betrayed yet again: Scarpia has tricked her by secretly ordering Cavaradossi to be executed, and she is to be arrested. Rather than lose her freedom once more, Tosca leaps from the castle walls to end her life. A coward’s way out, or a final act of agency? Once arrested, Tosca would have been put to death—not only for her role in freeing a political prisoner, but now also for the murder of her blackmailer and rapist. Tosca is left with one final way to take control of her own life, one ultimate choice that is hers and hers alone. She makes that choice. To return to our original question, why do we continue to revisit familiar stories, even when we know how they end? Perhaps partly to explore the ways that stories fail to change—in 2025, themes of political machinations, sexual assault, and violence against women are as relevant as ever. But perhaps we also return to these predictable stories to understand how we are changing, such as the subtle ways we discover strength and agency in a character who is given few choices and yet refuses to completely forfeit her power. Sopranos have sung the sumptuous role of Floria Tosca for 125 years, but what we hear, and what we believe, Tosca is telling us, continues to evolve.
Erica Reid lives in Colorado and returns often to her hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio. She writes for arts organizations and teaches poetry. ericareidpoet.com